


Stuck in the middle with you

by geekyyoungblood



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Art Teacher Jaskier, Artist Geralt of Rivia, Ciri playing matchmaker, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Geralt is a good dad, Literally everyone does art, M/M, Mentions of Vesemir, Quarantine, based on a tiktok, but nothing explicit, hints at sexual content, it was too good not to write, probably not my best work but i just had to get it out into the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27030781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyyoungblood/pseuds/geekyyoungblood
Summary: “Hmm.” Ciri recognizes a hint of approval in his voice. “Are all your professors this attractive?”Her mouth falls open instantly, laughter tugging at the corners of her mouth. “What?”“Well, you heard me, he’s stunning,” Geralt deadpans. “Or, ‘a snack’, as I suppose your generation would say. You wouldn’t happen to know if he likes men, would you?” He says it as a joke, but Ciri smirks.-Or: Geralt starts crushing on Ciri's art teacher during her online classes. Ciri takes the opportunity and runs with it.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 33
Kudos: 548





	Stuck in the middle with you

**Author's Note:**

> Me starting this fic back in april: oh my I should probably finish this asap so that it doesn't become irrelevant before I can post it  
> Me now: .... welp
> 
> As I'm sure we're all aware, the state of the world right now absolutely sucks on so many levels, everything is horrible and so many of us have been affected by it in different ways. It is absolutely not my intention to make light of the situation, but I also feel that it's important to find a bit of light in the darkness, and this Tiktok that I found way back is one of those little rays of light. So naturally, I had to make a fanfic out of it. (Said Tiktok can be found here: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZSxertXW/)
> 
> This is absolutely not my best work, but I felt like I had to get it out there. I hope you'll find it enjoyable!
> 
> Huge thanks to Aaron, Julian and Lasota (IndigoDream, MrFahrenheit and MaliciousVegetarian on AO3 respectively) for all the support, and also for betaing (Aaron) and coming up with the title (Julian) as well as helping me brainstorm when I got stuck <3 You guys have been a massive help and this probably wouldn't have happened without you.

Ciri likes to think of herself as a person who can handle most situations pretty painlessly. It’s why she’s always been so reluctant to accept help when running into problems, preferring to figure them out on her own. Granted, it hasn’t always been the best approach, but the feeling of triumph when she does manage to solve an issue all on her own is rewarding enough to be worth it. Which is why, as soon as the lockdown was announced and she was suddenly confined to her home for most hours of the day, she set her mind firmly on the goal of getting through it all unscathed. She wouldn’t succumb to panic or fear of isolation - she’ll get through it.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t also a bit relieved by the switch from regular classes to online ones. She’s never been a very patient student, what with her stubborn streak that makes her reluctant to do anything she doesn’t see a benefit in doing, which goes for most school subjects. Her big passion is art, and that’s what she plans to make a living from in the future, and she can’t see how any of the other, more boring subjects would aid her in that plan. 

The downside to the situation is that her extracurricular art classes have, of course, been impacted as well. They haven’t been cancelled (for which she is eternally thankful), only moved online, but she really misses slipping into the classroom in the afternoons, saying hello to Jaskier before descending upon whatever snack he’s brought for the day and rummaging through the art supplies in the cupboards whilst making small talk and gossiping with him. It’s a comfortable and calming routine, one that makes her happy, and simply logging onto a video call twice a week doesn’t have that same feel to it.

Jaskier is the kind of teacher who goes above and beyond, and the moment he took notice of Ciri’s passion for art, he started bringing her in for extra classes outside of the regular curriculum - at first it was her and two others, but as years have passed and the older two have since graduated and moved on to universities, she’s been left behind alone - for no other reason than “The curriculum is beneath you, you should be able to explore your talents beyond it”. He’s since guided her through every imaginable medium, and although her original medium of pen and paper and the occasional splash of watercolours is still her favorite, she appreciates the experience deeply - she feels like the fact that she is able to navigate somewhat confidently through different art forms adds a degree of professionalism to her skill. When not teaching her the actual craft, he talks at length about art history, criticism and image interpretation - things that he is apparently  _ very _ fond of - and it might have been annoying had she not been so interested herself. Jaskier probably deserves some of the credit for awakening that interest in her, actually. And if nothing else, his passion for the subject is kind of adorable. He also insisted very early on that she call him by his first name, which only makes her like him more. These days she considers him a friend, not just a teacher.

An upside to the situation (which she might begin to consider a downside in the future, but she hasn’t reached that point yet) is the extra time she gets to spend with Geralt, the one other member of her household - she still doesn’t quite know how to describe their relationship. For all intents and purposes, he is her father, although not by blood and not since birth. She still remembers her biological father, which means calling Geralt her dad feels a little off, but over the years she’s begun to feel as though there isn’t really anything else that feels right. She  _ does _ consider him a father - and who says one can only have one of those?

Geralt’s status as a freelance artist means his situation hasn’t changed very much since the beginning of the pandemic - the only real difference is that he has Ciri around during the day now. He seems to appreciate it, but she can’t help but wonder if he doesn’t also find it a bit annoying at times. He does value his alone time. They’ve had some fun moments, though, and a lot of the time Ciri finds herself favouring the desk in the corner of the small dining room over the one in her own room. Geralt mostly draws by the dining table anyway, and she appreciates having him there, even though they usually sit in silence. If anything she finds the silence comforting, homely. 

It’s one of those evenings now; Geralt leaning over his drawing pad at the dining table, Ciri perched on her chair by the desk, one of Jaskier’s pre-recorded lectures pulled up on her laptop. Technically, she is procrastinating - she has more urgent matters to attend to as far as her math and english deadlines go, but those classes are dull at best and torture at worst, and listening to Jaskier’s passionate sidetracking about the various artists semi-related to his lecture on modernism is a much more pleasant activity. He sent her the thirty-minute video as “homework”, because they hadn’t had time for everything he had wanted to talk about during this week’s class. (Partly because they got caught up in a debate over what the correct way to eat a chocolate bar is, probably.)

It’s around dinner time, but she isn’t particularly hungry, so she’s waiting for Geralt to propose a meal, which might take a while - when he gets into his work flow he can stay there, no concept of the world around him, for quite a while, and he doesn’t tend to get hungry either; quite frequently she has to prevent him from starving to death by reminding him to eat three times a day. The fact that he’s responsible for feeding  _ her  _ helps sometimes - say what you will about Geralt, but he takes responsibility.

A few more minutes pass, and Ciri is nearing the end of the lecture and the time steadily approaches her usual bedtime. She’s having a bit of trouble to focus even on Jaskier, She has half a mind to suggest they eat something - or to simply get up and simply get something from the fridge - but before she can entirely finish that train of thought, she is interrupted.

“What are you watching?”

She flinches, but by now she’s quite used to Geralt’s habit of sneaking up on her - the man moves  _ very  _ quietly - so she doesn’t mention it. She tugs off her headphones, leaving them hanging around her neck. “Art lecture.”

She doesn’t turn her head, but out of the corner of her eye she sees that Geralt is hovering over her shoulder now, peeking at the screen. He’s often curious about the contents of her art classes, asking her about it any chance he gets. He never had a proper art education on any level himself, having learned by doing and the occasional online tutorial, and comparing their respective levels of expertise can be fun - though he isn’t going to be able to discern much of the contents of this particular lecture, seeing as he only has the visuals and not the audio, so she isn’t sure why he keeps looking at it with such interest for so long.

“Hmm.” Ciri recognizes a hint of approval in his voice. “Are all your professors this attractive?”

Her mouth falls open instantly, laughter tugging at the corners of her mouth. “What?”

“Well, you heard me, he’s stunning,” Geralt deadpans. “Or, ‘a snack’, as I suppose your generation would say. You wouldn’t happen to know if he likes men, would you?” He says it as a joke, but Ciri smirks.

“Well, as a matter of fact, he’s bi.” Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up, which pleases Ciri immensely. “He’s very loud about it,” she clarifies, having flashbacks to that one time he came to class wearing a shirt that said “Be Bi, Rob A Guy” in stark pink, blue and purple letters (she believes it was during pride month).

Geralt hums, apparently pleased. “Is he single?”

“Surprisingly enough, I don’t actually discuss relationships with my teachers, but I do happen to know that he lives alone, if that’s helpful…” 

“Well, that means no serious relationship, at least, doesn’t it? And a bit of lesser competition is nothing I can’t handle.”

She laughs louder this time. “Who says the competition will be  _ lesser?” _

“A relationship of the less serious kind isn’t very likely to distract him from me, no?”

“Oh, definitely not if you go in with that kind of confidence,” she giggles. “You’ll win him over in the blink of an eye.”

“I have no doubt. We’ll just have to come up with some smooth way to introduce me.” Geralt straightens up, groaning under his breath as he stretches his neck (Ciri makes a mental note to remind him to actually take breaks when he’s working), and then moves towards the counter. “Are you more in the mood for tomato pasta or sausages and instant mashed potatoes?”

Ciri frowns. “Are those the only options?”

“Unless you want to have bread and butter for dinner, yes, it is.”

She groans. “This is unacceptable. We’re among the ones who actually still have an income, getting some  _ actual food  _ in the house shouldn’t be an issue.”

“I’ll listen to your criticism when you’re the one bringing in said income.” He takes a jar of tomato sauce from one of the upper cupboards. “Pasta it is, then.”

Ciri sighs dramatically, pressing pause on Jaskier’s video and getting out of her seat. “You wound me, father.”

“And you annoy me.”

She holds back a giggle.

  
\----

Geralt has been freelancing for as long as Ciri can remember, which is pretty much her whole life - she moved in with him the year she turned six, after the loss of both of her parents. He took to digital art around the time Ciri moved up to secondary, and it seems to suit him - precise, never messy, easily storable. They’re both grateful for it as Ciri’s abundance of sketchbooks, loose paper sheets, pens, charcoal, erasers, watercolour palettes, painting brushes and finished pieces already take up about as much space in their small apartment as the possessions of a third inhabitant would. Although she would never admit it - as his kid she needs to maintain a certain level of dignity - Geralt’s art is one of her biggest inspirations; it’s usually painted in a style reminiscent of oil, all thick strokes and bold colours; perhaps an outlet for all the feelings he so rarely shows in expressions or words. His motives are determined by his commissions - book covers and advertisements and the occasional private piece - but on the rare occasions that he finds the time to create something just for himself, he’s drawn towards places and sceneries. He’s painted their apartment more than once, somehow turning the small, messy spaces poetic and beautiful. He paints the view from their kitchen window, turning the skyline a sharp, dramatic line of blues and purples. When he paints Vesemir’s cabin, the one where they always spend their summers (she is praying that this summer will allow them there even just for a couple of days), he brings out all the pleasantness and coziness of it. 

But sometimes, he’ll draw people, usually the ones closest to him. His portrait of her that she keeps hanging on her bedroom wall is probably the biggest giveaway of how much she loves him and his work that she has ever let slip. It’s made with real oil, not computer-generated, and shows her from her shoulders up, dressed in what appears to be the knitted blue sweater that Vesemir once gifted her, gazing into the distance as though she’s deep in thought. Although her dignity prevents her from explicitly telling him so, she hopes with all of her being that he doesn’t think she only has it up to make him happy.

  
\----

Planning out an introduction of Geralt to Jaskier eventually becomes a recurring joke. Ciri almost immediately comes up with what she considers to be a great idea.

“You know how you sometimes come in to ask if I want a snack, when I’m in my room?” she asks him on friday morning, abandoning the (dreadfully boring) english assignment she is working on in favour of turning her chair around to face the table where Geralt is working on some project she doesn’t recognize.

“Yes,” he responds, not looking up from his drawing pad. 

“Well, imagine this: I’m on a video chat with Jaskier, and you’re not there in the background, and of course he’ll be thinking: ‘Hm, I wonder where Ciri’s dad is?’. And  _ then _ you come in, and you’re like: ‘Ciri, would you like a snack?’ - and then you’re like: ‘Oh, hello, what a coincidence! It is  _ so _ nice to finally meet you…’”

“Perfect.” A smile tugs at Geralt’s lips. “And what then?”

“Well, Jaskier is a chatterbox, so he’ll take care of the conversation on his own. You’ll just have to hum and nod in all the right places - oh, and maybe you should remove your shirt beforehand? Bring out the heavy artillery... ”

“I’ll lift some weights in the background, how about that?”

“Oh, then he’ll be won over for sure. If I’m not mistaken he’s very into the, uh… The rawer kind of masculinity.”

“Raw masculinity?” Geralt looks up from his drawing tablet. His right eyebrow is raised, but he is still smirking.

“Oh, I don’t know! I’m just saying he seems to like those buff guys in the superhero movies and that’s sort of the look you have too, so you know…”

Geralt’s other eyebrow joins the first, and Ciri laughs, equal parts flustered, amused and exasperated.

“Well, I don’t know! Jason Momoa, Chris Evans, that kind of thing, you know…”

“You think I look like Jason Momoa?”

“We do own a mirror, you know.” She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, what I’m saying is that you’re totally his type. He’ll fall head over heels the moment he sees you, then all you’ll have to do is reel him in with your astoundingly charming personality.” 

Some sarcasm must have seeped into her voice at the words “astoundingly charming personality” - or maybe Geralt just sees the irony for himself - because he hums, turning back to his tablet. He still looks amused, but there’s a slight grave tinge to it now, and Ciri bites her tongue. 

“Aw, don’t give me that look, dad!” That word is the heavy artillery, she knows, and she sees the way the lines on his face smoothen out, even though he doesn’t look up. “You  _ are  _ charming. In your own unique way. Look, I know Jaskier, you’re totally his type. He’ll love you.”

A smile graces Geralt’s lips again, but then he frowns, turning to her again. “Are you trying to  _ actually _ set me up, Ciri?”

“I thought that’s what we’ve been doing,” she says innocently, shrugging.

Geralt gives her a warning look with no edge whatsoever, and her lips curve cheekily.

“It  _ would _ be pretty cool to have Jaskier as a dad,” she says after a few moments of silence, and she could swear that Geralt’s dropping his pen in that exact moment sounds precisely like a reaction to her words.

She starts coming up with a proper plan after that.

  
\----

The weekend passes about as eventfully as it can in these times, and Monday brings more dull online classes with teachers who were boring even in person and somehow are even more boring over video chat. The upside is that she can unnoticeably pull up a chat conversation in a separate window and send memes to Dara and Martin instead of paying attention. Which is also why she’s in her own room today - the few times that she’s done this in the dining room, Geralt had given her a glare so pointed that she had felt compelled to immediately switch back to class.

The silver lining is that Mondays are also extra-art-class days, and today’s activity is discussing the lecture Jaskier sent her last week, which means that she gets to ramble about modernism with him for an hour. Their classes tend to be pretty informal - sometimes she thinks his own desire to have someone to geek out over art with are as much reason as anything else for having them - so much of their classes consist of, well, geeking out, that they barely qualify as classes some days. On those days she feels more like she’s talking to a friend than to a professor. 

Dara, Martin and her get through about four TikToks and three posts from some run-of-the-mill Instagram meme page that Martin apparently follows, before Ciri decides that now is probably as good a time as any to tell them about her plan regarding Geralt and Jaskier. Normally, she would have waited until she could speak to them in person, but these days they understandably communicate almost exclusively over texts (they’re all too lazy to set up video calls). And she’s so excited about the whole thing she desperately needs to talk to somebody else about it.

_ Btw, did I tell you that I’m setting my dad up with Jaskier? _ she writes, knowing full well that she hasn’t told them a single thing.

**_Dara:_ ** _ WHAT _

**_Martin:_ ** _ Why?? _

_ Geralt looked over my shoulder when I watched Jaskier’s video lecture. He thinks he’s hot. _

**_Dara:_ ** _ Oh my GOD _ .  _ Really? Have you told Jaskier? _

_ Nope. I’m gonna be smooth about it. I have a whole plan. _

**_Martin:_ ** _ What’s the plan then? _

Ciri grins, beginning to type out an explanation.

As soon as her final class of the day is over she slams the laptop shut, grateful to be able to get out of her small room for a while. After thirty minutes’ worth of mindless social media scrolling, making and eating a sandwich, and pacing up and down the short hallway just to get a move on her stiff muscles (she’s painfully aware of the fact that joining Geralt’s regular at-home workouts might, in fact, be a good idea), she returns, coffee cup in hand as she pulls up the chat room that she and Jaskier always use.

Jaskier doesn’t look too put together, his hair messy and his eyes underlined by obvious dark circles, but he looks cheerful enough, and he’s wearing his trademark knitted purple beanie, so Ciri has faith that he’s at the very least doing alright. (She once asked him why he’s always wearing the beanie even during online classes, to which he answered: “Well, I can’t drop my brand just because there’s a pandemic, can I? Be sensible, Cirilla.”)

“Oh, if it isn’t my favorite student!” He calls her that a lot, and she has no idea how much truth there is to the joke. With Jaskier, it’s often hard to tell the difference. “How are you doing on this fine evening?”

“Good, I suppose.” She grins. “Your magnificent lecture was inspiring indeed.”

“Why, thank you! Did it awaken the spirit of learning in you, by any chance?”

“Oh, definitely. I’m most excited to continue this journey down the path of knowledge with you by my side.”

“That’s the spirit!” Jaskier beams. “Opinions, then? Any immediate thoughts that came to mind?”

They spend about thirty minutes discussing the influence of various modernist submovements on contemporary art, before a thought occurs to her. She smiles slightly.

  
“I think my dad takes influence from expressionism. His art looks a lot like that.”

Jaskier raises his eyebrows, looking pleasantly surprised. “Oh, yes, your dad is an artist, isn’t he?” They don’t often discuss Ciri’s family - or Jaskier’s, for that matter - so all he knows about Geralt is the basics - that he’s Ciri’s adoptive dad, that kind of thing.

Ciri nods. “He does commissions for a living.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely indeed. I wouldn’t suppose he’s having much issue getting by in these times, then?”

Ciri laughs. “Oh no. It’s all the same for him. Except I’m around all the time now.” She smirks slightly. “It gets kind of rough being two people locked in an apartment together, sometimes.” Maybe Jaskier has already gathered that her dad is single, but if he hasn’t she wants to make sure that he knows before she introduces them.

Because she’s going to. Definitely.

“Oh, well, I can imagine.” If Jaskier is surprised he doesn’t show it. “You do go outside sometimes, right? I don’t want you wasting away in there.”

“No need to worry,” she reassures him, ignoring the fact that she hasn’t been further away than the balcony in a week. “Although I do worry about Geralt sometimes. My dad, that is. He’s used to living like this, yeah, but I feel like he doesn’t get out enough.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I feel like he needs to, you know, start seeing people. Which is hard right now.”

Jaskier laughs. “Maybe set him up with an online dating profile? Speed dating over video chat could be a thing, you know. Or maybe it already is? Anyway, I recommend online dating. It’s worked wonders for me.”

“Oh, yeah. Maybe I should make him a Grindr profile.”

She doesn’t miss the slight change in Jaskier’s expression; a little glint of something that resembles excitement. She doesn’t quite know how to interpret it, but knowing Jaskier, there  _ is  _ a chance that the prospect of a queer, single man is simply very appealing to him right now. (Lockdown  _ has _ been hard on everyone, after all.) He laughs. “By all means. Grindr can be lifesaving.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, unless you have any more questions, I, uh, suppose I should let you get on with your day. Are you having dinner soon?”

“If Geralt has managed to drag himself away from his drawing yet, then yeah. Speaking of that, I should probably go check on him.” She pauses, then adds: “You’re still available for questions on Friday afternoons, right?”

“Yes, absolutely. Why?”

“Oh, just making sure.” She shoots him a grin and hopes he doesn’t notice the excitement that threatens to spill over. “See you around!”

He bids her goodbye, and she closes the laptop, excited smile on her face. Her plan is starting off wonderfully.

\----

Come Friday afternoon, she moves her laptop to the dining room after her last class of the day is finished. Geralt doesn’t ask her about it, only shooting her a quick glance as she sets up her things at the desk, before turning back to his work. She logs onto the video chat and carefully angles the screen so that Geralt is very much visible from where he’s sitting, positioning herself so that she won’t be hiding him from view. 

She very deliberately left her headphones in her room, and when Jaskier joins the call, his bright and cheery “Hello!” is broadcast through the room over the laptop speakers. On the screen, Ciri sees Geralt briefly look up towards the computer at the sound, before going back to what he was doing - but she sees the way that his posture straightens a little, how he seems to become a little more aware of his own movements. 

“Hi, Jaskier!” she chirps back, grinning wide. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m just fine.” Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but she thinks he’s glancing behind her a bit - the distortion of proportions is making it hard to tell, though. “How about you?”

“Same here. Considering the circumstances, at least. I’m getting some cabin fever.” This is true - the past few days the isolation has gotten to her a bit more than it previously has. She hopes it’ll pass eventually.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Jaskier frowns in concern.

“Oh, don’t be, I’m fine.” She waves her hand dismissively. She doesn’t need another person worrying about her - Geralt is more than enough.

“If you say so. Well, since you asked for a meeting, I’m assuming you had some questions for me?”

Ciri grins. “I do!” Then she makes a face as though she just remembered something, praying it doesn’t look too obviously forged. “Oh, actually, before I ask, would you mind if I went and got myself some tea? I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, yes, of course! I’ll just… wait here.” Jaskier looks a bit awkward just sitting there, but it goes perfectly well with what she has planned, so Ciri is very content with that.

“Great!” She bounces out of her seat, slipping away into the kitchen.

And now it’s time to wait.

She grabs the kettle off the counter and moves to the sink to fill it up with water, making sure to take her time with it. All the while she keeps her ears peeled, but there isn’t a sound coming from the dining room. She wishes she could go back in and check on the two of them, see if they’re paying each other any interest at all. 

The kettle is full, and she puts it back down on the counter and switches it on. A low, rumbling sound fills the kitchen as the water boils. Still nothing from the other room.

Ciri is taking a tea cup from the cabinet, about to lose hope, when she hears the faint sound of Jaskier’s voice from the laptop speakers - obscured by low volume and audio quality, but very much there:

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

She purses her lips against the loud laugh that threatens to escape them.  _ What a line.  _ There is something distinctly pick up-esque about it, while it’s also one of the most awkward interactions she has ever witnessed. He really pulled that one out of his ass. The kettle beeps, and she puts the teacup down on the counter, picking the kettle back up.

There’s a moment of silence, but the two of them must have made eye contact or  _ something _ , because the next thing she hears is Jaskier’s semi-embarrassed laugh. “Yes, you.”

Geralt, the emotionally constipated bastard, decides to respond to that with a “Hmm”.

After that, there’s more silence, and Ciri finds herself chewing the inside of her lip. She’s frozen in place, still holding the kettle above the counter without having gotten around to put it down.  _ Say something, for god’s sake, don’t let this slip away from you - _

In the midst of her internal monologue, she is interrupted by Jaskier’s voice - a barely audible, surprised “Oh”. Before she can reach any conclusion on what might have prompted the exclamation, he keeps talking, half-breathless with fascination: “You’re that painter, aren’t you? Geralt, uh… ‘Geralt of Rivia’.”

There’s a clear undertone of laughter in Jaskier’s voice at the last few words, and Ciri has never regretted allowing Geralt to pick his own social media handle more in her life. 

Geralt hums again, but this time there’s clearly a small smile behind it. “You’re invested in the art world, then? Few people recognize me by my face.”

“Oh,  _ please,  _ I do art for a living, why wouldn’t I know the greats?” Jaskier is flirting more smoothly now, a confident smirk sneaking its way into his voice. “Love your work, by the way. I’ve spent some time lurking on your Instagram. Did you ever consider doing an exhibition of your own? Because that would be  _ truly  _ amazing.”

“Hmm, well, not really my scene. Hard to find places who will have you, too.” (While nothing in that sentence is untrue, Ciri knows it’s also a paraphrase for “I would have to make public appearances and talk to people and that makes me uncomfortable”.) “But I appreciate the compliment, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it. Your work is just…” He pauses, sounding awe-struck. “It’s like you take the contemporary and the modern and mix them together, you know? Like - your art is distinctly contemporary, yes, but there’s also a hint of - I don’t know, impressionism? Yeah, impressionism but with all the colour and emotion of, like - expressionists before they stopped being avant-garde, I don’t know how but you took both and did it  _ so _ well - a few of these are even really - really  _ fauvistic  _ in nature, but they’re so  _ emotionally charged _ I can’t just go and reduce it to simple colour work - you can tell I didn’t like those guys very much - and…”

Ciri giggles quietly, clasping her free hand over her mouth to keep the sound from reaching the other room. She can see the utter confusion on Geralt’s face as clear as day.

“... really, what I’m trying to say is… “ Jaskier pauses for a moment, seemingly falling back into reality the way he sometimes does after realizing he’s gone off on a tangent, and laughs awkwardly. “It’s amazing. It’s so… innovative. I can’t even describe it.”

“Really? Because I think you just wrote about thirty lines of poetry about it.”

Crap. Ciri knows Geralt well enough to be able to detect the teasing, lighthearted tone hiding beneath all the layers of sour sarcasm, but Jaskier?

The genuinely delighted laugh erupting from the computer speakers soothes her worries. “Seems I did. Not my fault you’re so inspiring.” There’s the flirting again - might this have been an even better idea than she realized?

Geralt hums, seemingly pleased. 

  
  
\----  
  


“Jaskier thinks your art is really colourful, really emotional, and that the light is really clever,” Ciri states after finishing the video call, moving her laptop to the side to make room for her sketchbook. 

Geralt hums, sounding surprised - but pleased. He’s silent for a moment, then: “I need to read up on art history, don’t I?”

Ciri smiles. “Never a better time to start, right?”

  
\----

  
They’re lounging on the couch a couple of evenings later, mindlessly watching an episode of a new Netflix reality show that Ciri has already forgotten the name of (they both find the drama entertaining in a morbid sort of way, kind of similar to the feeling of watching a car crash), when Geralt, who has had his phone out for the past fifteen minutes, lets out a small gasp, which is the Geralt equivalent of a shocked squeal.

“Jaskier is in my Instagram DMs.”

Ciri turns to him immediately, her mouth falling open. “No?!”

Geralt looks at her, groaning quietly as he rolls his eyes. “Not like that. He’s talking about my art.”

As much as she’d hate to admit it, Ciri is a little disappointed. “The work of art that is your gorgeous abs?” she teases.

“No! The painting I just posted. Don’t tell me you don’t keep up with my feed?”

“I do! I liked the picture, even.” The picture in question is one that Geralt has been working on for a while, in the time left between commissions. It depicts a man in clothes that look like they might belong to a medieval peasant, walking down a modern day city street - Ciri assumes it’s supposed to symbolize alienation, or something.

“Well, he wrote to me to tell me he liked it.”

Ciri’s grin widens. “On your DMs? He didn’t just comment?”

“No, he sent me a message specifically to tell me that he liked the painting.”

Ciri laughs, exhilarated. “Oh, how very not-subtle of him. God, this is great. What did you reply?”

The look that Geralt gives her is a questioning one, as though he’s wondering what she meant by that first half of the sentence, but he doesn’t ask. “Nothing. I haven’t replied yet.”

“Even better. Give me your phone.” She snatches it out of his hand before he can reply. 

“Ciri,” he warns.

  
“What?” she asks innocently. “I am merely going to make sure that your reply is striking enough to seduce him.” She looks at the screen - the displayed conversation consists of a single message from “pankratzjaskier”:  _ Just saw your latest work! As stunning as always :) _

“He liked the picture, too,” Geralt tells her.

“Oh, this is  _ brilliant.”  _ Ciri laughs, beginning to type out a reply. “He likes you, alright.”

“What are you writing?” Geralt asks suspiciously, reaching over to snatch the phone back. Ciri quickly gets up from the couch, moving away a couple of steps, her eyes never leaving the phone screen.

_ “Thank you for the sweet compliment,”  _ she reads out loud,  _ “but my art will never be as stunning as you.” _

Geralt’s face tightens, but there’s a softness to it that tells Ciri he’s really not very angry. “You are  _ not  _ sending that.”

“Coward,” she remarks, but she deletes the message. “How about this, then:  _ Thank you, I try my best!” _

“That just sounds basic,” Geralt says. “He’ll think I’m boring.”

Ciri rolls her eyes. “He already knows you’re not  _ boring.” _

“Then let’s not give a different impression now, shall we?”

  
A corner of Geralt’s mouth is perking up in a slight grin, and Ciri shakes her head, smiling. He seems to actually be invested in the unfolding of events, beyond simply keeping her happy, and that’s good enough for her. “Fair enough. What would you write, then?”

Geralt looks at the ceiling for a while, considering. After a good twenty seconds of contemplative silence, he says:  _ “I’m glad you liked it. I had been hoping it would catch your attention, seeing as talking to you gave me new inspiration.” _

Ciri’s eyebrows shoot up, and she laughs. “Damn, Geralt! That’s smooth.”

“Hmm. Don’t get used to it.” He smiles slightly. “Now give me my phone back.”

“Just a moment.” She begins to type Geralt’s response from memory.

“I’m perfectly capable of writing my own replies, thank you very much.”

“You don’t have to, though! Think of me as your personal secretary.” She finishes up the text and presses  _ Send.  _ “There. Here you go.” She hands the phone over, and Geralt puts it into the pocket of his hoodie almost protectively.

“Fantastic. Will you wind back the show a few minutes? I missed what Brianna was going to say about Rebecca.”   
  
“She was probably just telling her what a fake bitch she is, again,” Ciri shrugs, but she does grab the remote and press rewind as she slumps back down into the couch. 

“Probably, but what’s the fun in not getting to see it happen?”

“Hmm, true.”

  
  
\----

A few days later, Ciri goes for a walk. Yes, that is what she’s come to. It feels almost humiliating in an odd way, but if she has to spend another moment crammed in the apartment with (a, for the moment being, slightly grumpy) Geralt less than sixteen feet away at any given time she’ll go insane. Going out on the balcony for air simply isn’t cutting it anymore.

It’s a bad day, too. As much as she tries to convince both herself and everybody else that it doesn’t, the isolation is getting to her. And no matter how much she loves Geralt, there is a point where spending too much time with the same person becomes unbearable. She’s already found herself snapping at him several times today, and she knows that if she sticks around for too long she’s going to end up starting a fight. Their fights always leave a bad taste in her mouth that she isn’t too keen on reliving.

To be fair, the walk is her final resort - she’s already tried every other thing that normally cheers her up. She drew a little, watched a show, she even called Dara, but none of it did the trick. The isolation and the close proximity to Geralt became too much anyway. It didn’t help that Dara - for all that he tried to provide good distractions for her tired mind - decided to ask about the whole thing with Geralt and Jaskier. She’s glad he’s invested, but she didn’t really have the energy to talk about it for the moment being. She told him so, and he was very nice and respectful about it, but it made her feel like the grumpy, boring friend that she so desperately wants not to be, and she hated it.

The walk does her good, at least. It’s a fairly sunny and warm day, the street is almost empty, and she gets through almost the entirety of her two hour Spotify playlist before she returns. The fresh air seems to breathe life back into her, leaving her cheeks rosy and her breathing slow and steady. For the last few blocks that she passes on her way home, there is a skip to her step.

She pushes the apartment door open with every intention of staying out of Geralt’s space - it feels like they both need it - in favour of going straight into her room and spending the rest of the evening watching something mindless. But as she simultaneously kicks off her shoes and removes her earbuds, pondering whether or not to get a cup of tea from the kitchen before retiring, her attention is piqued by Geralt’s voice coming from the living room. He’s talking to someone she can’t quite hear, laughter shining through clearly in his voice - as clearly as can be when it’s Geralt, at least.

Curious, she moves slowly down the hallway, listening carefully. The other person's voice is obscured by the static of a video call, but it sounds familiar enough, and she has her suspicions - though it feels like it must be too good to be true. 

“Perhaps you dress less for practicality and more for show than I do,” she hears Geralt say, now. There’s laughter through the video call static, but when the other person replies Ciri still can’t quite hear them, so she hurriedly skips closer to the doorway - and yes, she most definitely knows that voice.

“... is  _ boring, _ Geralt! Fashion is the very best way to express yourself without words.”

“No. Art is.”

“Fashion is an art form!”

“Hmm, is it, now?”

“Of course it is! Who are you to discriminate against art - you know, as an artist? It’s unprofessional.” 

There’s a pause. Geralt hums, but doesn’t say anything. Ciri leans against the wall, not daring to poke her head out for fear of interrupting. Then Jaskier speaks up again.

“Maybe one of these days I should take you shopping. Get some more expressive pieces to complete your wardrobe with.”

“Expressive?” Ciri can hear the eyebrow raise.   
  


“Yes, clothes that express your personality!” There’s a brief silence. When Jaskier speaks again, his voice is lower, almost hesitant, while also filled with intent. “Although, I must say, the ones you already have do present your physique gloriously.”

Ciri’s mouth involuntarily drops open. For a couple of moments, the silence is deafening. Then Geralt speaks, and unexpectedly enough, there isn’t a trace of a doubt in his voice, lowered to match Jaskier’s tone. “Oh, do they, now?”

“Oh yes, they do.” The hesitation seems to be gone, Jaskier’s voice growing more bold. “Just tight enough, I would say.”

“Hmm? And what exactly do they  _ present?” _

“Well, it’s no secret that you’re wonderfully built, is it, now? So strong… You put a lot of work into that, don’t you?”

“I try my best. Why, do you like it?”

Ciri is painfully torn between quietly slipping away or making her presence known. Neither option seems very appealing, considering the awkwardness of the latter and the prospect of what Geralt might get up to in her absence if she goes for the former - he doesn’t seem to be aware she’s even home yet.

“But I do. Though I must say your face is also…” He trails off.

“Is what?”

“So…” Jaskier pauses again. “I mean, how is a man as built as you so… so  _ pretty?” _

Ciri would coo at the sweetness of the compliment, had it not been for the context of the conversation. Geralt, however, seems to eat it right up. Of course. “You should take a look at yourself, then.”

“Oh, should I, now? I sure don’t compare to you.”

“Hmm, are you sure about that?”

“I am, because I’m not blind, Geralt. You’re a god among men, truly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you are. Wish I could bring you over here, right now.”

“And why is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. All sorts of things… Enjoyable things. A man as pretty as you deserves to feel good…”

Ciri very suddenly decides that revealing herself is, indeed, the less painful option - seeing as if Geralt doesn’t realize that she is home, it seems highly plausible that he will soon engage in phone sex with her professor - and she makes her entrance as loud as possible, trying to frame it as though she just now got home and made the quick walk through the hallway without taking any notice of any of her adoptive father’s ministrations. “Hello, Geralt!” she loudly greets him, hoping that the crack of her voice isn’t as obvious as it feels. She throws her jacket on the couch, next to Geralt, ignoring the fact that he will most definitely nag her about it later. “Who are you talking to?”

The look of sheer horror on Geralt’s face is almost funny enough to make up for the trauma he just inflicted upon her. Almost. “Uh- Jask- Jaskier.”

“Oh!” Ciri cries, trying her very best to sound genuinely surprised. “Are you two getting acquainted, then? That makes me, uh, very happy.”

“We, uh, we are, yeah.” She can’t see the laptop screen, but Jaskier sounds about as horrified as Geralt looks. “Hi, Ciri.” He clears his throat. 

“Hello!” she chirps, praying that she isn’t blushing. “Right, I’m not going to interrupt, just - yeah. Have fun.”  _ Not too much fun,  _ she stops herself from adding, quickly slipping back out into the corridor, heading to the kitchen to drown her trauma in a bowl of cereal. 

She’s pretty sure she hears Jaskier giggling from the living room. 

  
\----  
  


_ Dara, I take back what I said earlier, you HAVE to hear what I just came home to _

**_Dara:_ ** _ What??? _

**_Martin:_ ** _ What did I miss _

_ Geralt and Jaskier were on a video chat _

**_Dara:_ ** _ Oh my god _

**_Dara:_ ** _ On their own?? _

_ Yeah! _

**_Martin:_ ** _ Wow _

**_Dara:_ ** _ What were they talking about? _

_   
_ _ No idea, but I’m pretty sure they would have started taking their clothes off had I not come home when I did  _

**_Dara:_ ** _ WHAT _

**_Martin:_ ** _ NOOOO _

**_Dara:_ ** _ Ciri I’m so sorry you had to see that _

_ Lol it’s fine, it didn’t get very far _

_ Though if either of you happens to have some bleach that I can pour into my ears that would be lovely _

  
\----  
  


Eventually, there comes an end to the lockdown. As there does to everything.

The moment she finally feels confident that doing so is okay again, she packs a bag for a night at Dara’s. She informs Geralt of her plans over afternoon coffee, and he responds with a simple hum and nod, and a fondly sarcastic remark of “don’t do any drugs”, but she can’t help but wonder if that’s a slight change in his expression she’s seeing; a glint in his eye that’s difficult to place. She’d call it excitement, but does that make sense?

She finds out the hard way that it does.

The following afternoon she stumbles back into the apartment, the consequences of trading sleep for pizza and about four different movies having come to bite her in the ass - the excitement of finally getting to meet up with your best friend again after being kept apart for ages is, as it would seem, no joke - and alerts Geralt of her presence with a tired “hello”. He responds, from the living room, with a lack of energy that mirrors her own, and she frowns to herself in confusion over his state. Last night was one of few saturday nights that she hadn’t been there to keep him awake, after all. 

After dropping off her things in her room, she decides that drawing something will probably be good occupation for her tired brain. Upon grabbing some pens from her drawer, she realizes that she’s out of paper, so naturally, she makes her way to Geralt’s room to get one of the spare sketchbooks that she, for some reason, has stored there. He’s been on her case about removing them for quite a while, but she hasn’t bothered to.

Geralt’s bed is messy, unmade, which strikes her as odd, because his tendency to keep the spaces around him neat usually borders on perfectionism. He must be  _ very  _ tired. The rest of the room is neat enough, though, and it doesn’t take her long to get the sketchbook out from one of the plastic storage boxes stacked next to Geralt’s wardrobe. It’s when she turns back around to leave the room that she sees it. 

Right by the unmade bed, half-hidden underneath it, is an unmistakably familiar knitted beanie. And right beside it glints a thin, almost unnoticeable, strip of foil.

She is overcome by equal parts disgust, joy and pride, putting as much distance between herself and the little exhibition as she can as she skips out of the room, a hysterical giggle growing in her chest. 

“Geralt?”

Slipping into the living room, she receives another unengaged hum in return. Geralt is slumped back on the couch, non committedly watching something on the TV, his expression mirroring his voice. Ciri leans against the doorpost, arms crossed, a slight smirk on her lips.

“Will you call Jaskier and let him know that he left his beanie here?”

Geralt’s eyes widen, his expression instantly becoming awake as he turns to Ciri. She shoots him a grin laced with sarcasm, before turning around and slipping into her room.


End file.
